by Kim Karr
Among the chatter of people, I lean even closer, and take her wrap and purse and set them on her lap.
She casts me another frown and firmly puts her hands on top of the items to stop my movement.
“Don’t be that way,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for being an ass.”
“An arrogant ass,” she whispers to me.
I smirk at her. “Yes, that.”
Her hands remain where they are, but they are no longer pushing down and blocking me from her pussy. Nobody is paying any attention to us, and I quickly discover she did just what I told her to do—came pantyless.
Fuck me. She’s so hot and silky smooth.
The music continues to play and as my fingers ever so gently caress the wet folds of her pussy, I let my mind wander to visions of just us sitting here. And if we were alone, how I’d grasp her firmly by her hips and hoist her right onto my lap. Unzip my fly and set her right on top of me and tell her to ride me. How it would be quick, hot, and out of control because my need for her is that fierce.
“Gigi is not anywhere on the island,” someone calls from the archway.
The hushed whispers turn louder and I quickly remove my hand. People are standing now, and the music stops.
“It’s because of the video,” the woman behind us remarks rather loudly.
Curious, I turn, the delicious scent of Amelia’s pussy still on my hand and wafting toward my noise. “What video?” I ask.
Gigi’s costar is the one sitting behind me, and her lips are pursed in disgust. “The one TMZ just released of Chase at some strip club.”
“Oh, my God,” Amelia gasps under her breath.
Knowing he didn’t do anything wrong, and it seems ridiculous for the bride to run off because of that night, I say nothing and turn back around. Amelia is on her phone searching for the video, and when she pulls it up, the headline reads, “Chase Parker is a sex addict.”
My blood boils with rage. This is the Hollywood I remember. The one that lives and breathes fabricated lies and ridiculous accusations.
And then my blood is boiling for an entirely different reason because a text scrolls across Amelia’s screen with the name Landon Reese attached to it and the question “How’s the wedding?” beside it.
My entire body tenses.
Fuck me, I’m such an idiot.
The whole time I’ve thought this was real, all I have been is the bad she’d been craving. And I fucking knew it. And still I let it happen. All the while she has been fucking me, she’s been in contact with the good.
The one who is her Mr. Right.
Furious, my entire body starts to shake.
Fear flashes in her eyes when she notices my brooding stare. “It’s not what you think.”
I brush my lips against her ear. “Yeah, it is. You broke my one rule.”
And my heart…but that she’ll never know.
33
The Goodbye Girl
Amelia
We all want to find that perfect guy. We’re all looking for love—the big kind, the kind that will change the world as we know it.
We spend so much of our time waiting, searching, and going through the motions of dating until we find what we’re looking for.
Or maybe it’s not like that. Maybe there is never a first or second date. Maybe it starts with sex. Yet still, a relationship blossoms.
But we know it can’t last. It’s not meant to. Still, we have hope.
And I had hope.
I have hope.
Yes, I have been texting Landon, but only on a platonic level, and I gave myself the excuse that since I wasn’t “carrying on” or fucking I wasn’t breaking Brooklyn’s rule, but I was, and I knew it.
I can’t explain why I didn’t just let Landon go. Not even now as I sneak out of my brother’s house and over to Brooklyn’s, where I have to explain it to him.
He’s finally home.
I saw him being dropped off an hour ago.
I’ve been home much longer.
Once the wedding was officially canceled, all the guests were helicoptered off the island. Brooklyn put me on one of those choppers and arranged for his driver to take me to Cam’s. He told me he was going to hang back to be with Chase, and although I believe that was probably true, I also know he wanted me out of his sight. Gone.
And he was just way too polite about it. The way he huskily uttered that one single word, “Goodbye,” it practically broke me. When he walked away, I waited for him to look back. He never did.
Finding the hidden key near the rear door, I unlock it and step inside. The house is dark. Really dark, and there is not a light on anywhere.
Familiar enough with the layout, I sidestep Gracie’s dog dish—Gracie is Maggie and Keen’s dog that they bring with them on the weekends—and make it through the galley kitchen without a sound.
“What are you doing here?” The words come out of the dark of the living room and are directed toward me.
I have to stifle my scream. I hadn’t seen Brooklyn sitting on the couch. “I want to explain,” I tell him, switching on the light on the side table just outside the kitchen.
It is dim, but I’m able to see him. “Nothing to talk about, Amelia. Go to your brother’s until it’s time for you to go home.”
“Those texts are not what you think.”
A half-empty bottle of whiskey and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts sit on the coffee table in front of him. Brooklyn holds up a near-empty glass. “It’s exactly like what I think. I was the bad you were craving, and he is the good, the guy you see as the one.” He grits the words the one through his teeth, like it’s painful.
Feeling ashamed, empty, and heartsick, I sit beside him, not touching him. “Brooklyn, that’s not true and you know it. That’s the way you see it, the way you always have, which has been the problem all along, hasn’t it?”
His hair is rumpled, his shirt unbuttoned, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck. “The problem,” he says fiercely, “is that you’ve been sneaking around like I’m a dirty little secret, and I let you.”
Nausea curls in my stomach. “Bullshit!” I scream. “You didn’t want my brother to know and I went along with it. So face the real reason, Brooklyn. You knew you wouldn’t be staying with me and didn’t want to deal with the aftermath. That’s the truth.”
His face twists into a snarl. “That, Amelia, is bullshit.”
“No! No, it’s not. You never stay with anyone. It’s like no one person is enough for you, and you knew I wouldn’t be either.”
He runs a hand down his face and draws in a long, ragged breath. When he blows it out to look at me. I can smell booze and cigarettes when he talks. “Is that really what you think of me? That I’m just that pantydropper our brothers call me? Because if that is true, you don’t know me at all.”
I am looking at a wounded man. All I want to do is make this right. And because of this, I act before I think. I move toward him. I’m very close to his lips when I say, “I do know you, Brooklyn, I do.”
Doubt lingers.
I move closer still.
Then even closer.
I’m a breath away.
And then with that aggression he harbors so well, he takes my mouth for a bruising kiss. His lips move relentlessly over mine, his hands wander, firm and punishing, down my body, and then he pushes me back on the couch cushion.
And God help me, but I want this. Need this. As much as he does.
Frantic, he pushes down my yoga pants and then opens my thighs to dive between them.
His mouth is on me in an instant, and I cry out when he licks me. It feels so good, and I feel like it’s been forever, when it’s only been a matter of days. Those soft lips of his move against my clit, and I cry out some more. When he pushes his fingers inside me, and he groans against my pussy, I find myself unable to hold back my orgasm and I scream out his name in pleasure.
Within seconds, his fingers are fumbling with his belt, and then his cock is pressing
against me right before he pushes into me.
Unable to remain quiet, I cry out again in pleasure when he fills me.
Hot.
Wild.
Crazy.
Unabashed.
Brooklyn buries his face against my neck and I throw my head back. His teeth press my skin, then bite. A burning strike that is more pleasure than pain.
We move together in the most feral way. Animalistic, our need for each other is all that matters.
To get deeper, his hands move under my ass, pushing me against him, and I tilt my pelvis to allow him that pleasure, and myself, too.
The couch protests as we rock it.
Normally, we would have both laughed.
There is no laughter now.
Brooklyn fucks me hard and fast, and I rake my fingers over his back, giving myself up to him.
This is his final goodbye to me, and all I can do is say it back in the same way.
He says my name when he comes. Then again, lower. Softer. He slows the pace, thrusting once more. Then again. That last press of his pelvis to mine pushes me over the edge into orgasm, but this time there are no rainbows or unicorns.
Breathing hard, Brooklyn presses his forehead to mine. Whiskey breath caresses me. When he pushes himself off me, I feel the loss instantly.
He doesn’t look at me as he slides to the other end of the couch. My feet still so very close to him, yet the small space between us now seems like a giant divide.
Within moments, he pulls his pants up, and then waits for me to drag my yoga pants up.
Pulling my legs closer to me, I do just that.
I want him to stop me. To crawl on top of me and look at me. I want him to tell me I’m his. That he wants me more than the earth and the sun. That I’m his everything. That we’ll tell my brother together and everything will be okay. This isn’t where we end. This is where we begin.
Of course, he doesn’t.
Instead of looking at me, he looks down, pours himself another drink, and sips it. Then he sets the glass on the coffee table and stands up.
I stand, too.
He starts for the kitchen. “You should go.”
His back is to me, and as I follow him, I wipe the tears from my eyes with the heels of my palms. Rubbing them on my pants, I watch him as he opens the door. Watch the strong, confident man that I didn’t make mine, and have to stifle my cry.
The cool breeze hits me, and I shiver.
Brooklyn does too, although I doubt he knows it as he stands there, waiting for me to leave. To get out of his life.
I push up on my toes and kiss him softly on the mouth. “I’m sorry, Brooklyn,” I say in a low, hoarse voice. “I wish you could see that.”
He shakes his head, just a little. “Don’t be. We both knew how this was going to end.”
End.
There it is.
Yes, we did know all along that when we ended…it would be messy.
And messy, it is.
34
A Walk to Remember
Amelia
The John Wayne Airport is only nineteen minutes from Laguna Beach, but there is no direct flight to LaGuardia.
At the time I booked the flight, I hated the idea that Cam had to drive me fifty-nine minutes to LA International and drive fifty-nine minutes back to Laguna.
Right now, I’m thankful for the extra time.
Cam’s hands tighten on the wheel. “I’m going to fucking kill him, Amelia.”
I draw in a ragged breath. “You can’t. You promised me you’d hear me out and understand.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I have heard you out. And what I’ve heard is that he took advantage of you at a time in your life when you were confused.”
I shake my head. “Then you haven’t been listening to me, Cam. I pursued him. I wanted him. I wanted something I’d never had before, a taste of bad, and he gave me what I wanted. Just like you do, like Dad does, and shit, just like Mom did when she hid the truth from me. To you, and everyone around me, I’m a princess. Well, I have news for you: I don’t want to be that girl anymore.”
He looks over at me, and then out the window, as if pondering my words.
I reach over and squeeze his arm gently. “I’m telling you this so he doesn’t have to, Cam. I know how guilty he feels, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he would have told you. I’m trusting that you understand how much I care about him, and I want you to promise you won’t let it come between you.”
His nostrils flare, and his hands curl even tighter around the wheel. “I don’t know, Amelia; that’s not something I can promise right now.”
“Then don’t promise, just make sure it happens. I love him, and I don’t want his life to change because of me.”
With a softer stare than the one he gave me moments ago, he glances over me. “You love him?”
Feeling like such a silly girl, I cover my eyes at the realization. “Yes, I think I do. I don’t know. Everything is such a mess between us anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”
Moments of silence pass until Cam speaks again. “If you care about him so much, and he cares about you the way you say he does, then why are you leaving?”
Dropping my hands, I glance over at him. “I just am.”
There is so much more to it. The secrecy that ate us up. The way we started. The way we ended. My refusal to see that what was right in front of me was what I had been looking for the whole time.
Toads.
Frogs.
Princes.
Sometimes it’s not easy to tell the difference.
And sometimes it just should be.
Shame on me.
35
Fight Club
Brooklyn
On sitcoms, after a split the man typically finds some new girl to fuck around with while the girl sits around sobbing into her Häagen-Dazs ice cream. But in real life, men don’t move on so quickly or get over it so easily, either.
Regardless of the reason for the break, and mine is pretty damn good—he is the better man for her, he has his shit together—straight and simple.
Even knowing this, I still feel like shit.
That doesn’t matter. We needed to end. I could see she was waffling, knew she was second-guessing our decision, and when the text presented itself, I pounced.
I mean if Chase and Gigi couldn’t make it, how the hell could Amelia and I?
Yeah, I knew Amelia wasn’t carrying on with him. She was in this thing we had going on together all the way. A guy can tell. But we had to end, and there it was—the perfect reason.
The way to let her go.
A clean break.
The end.
The truth is, though, there is no good way to break up. It’s always messy. Always. Amelia and I were fooling ourselves into thinking our end wouldn’t be.
Breakups suck. No ifs, ands, or buts. The only breakup I remember being amicable was my first. It happened the summer before college. I had graduated; she hadn’t. I was going off to college and leaving the show; she wasn’t. For months, we knew it would be ending. When it did, we enjoyed a candlelit dinner and swapped breakup gifts, complete with wrapping paper. As breakups go, it was flawless. But the niceties can account for only so much—in the end, it did nothing to dull the hurt.
Since then, besides Sasha, I haven’t let a girl in, other than Amelia. Seeing Sasha last night was strange. I felt nothing but a fondness for all the years we shared. And later, when we talked, she told me she felt the same. It felt good to put her in my past once and for all.
Setting my coffee mug on the counter, I wonder when I will be able to say the same about Amelia because right now, it fucking hurts.
I grab my pencil and take these feelings and pour them into this intimate exchange between Kellan and Kate.
It’s the only thing I can do with them.
Suddenly, the kitchen door swings open.
My head jerks up from my manuscript to see Cam star
ing at me with a murderous look on his face. Fury blazes in his eyes, and I know. I know she’s told him. And fuck, I should have been more ready for this, but I’m not.
Stomping toward me, he grabs me by the neck of my shirt and hauls me off the kitchen stool I’ve been sitting on since Amelia left hours and hours ago.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Cam roars as his fist connects with my jaw in an explosive punch.
Stumbling back against the counter, I just stare at him. I won’t fight back. I can’t. I deserve this. And besides, it’s not like I didn’t know this day would come. I knew it all along, didn’t I?
Taking the three steps that separate us in a matter of seconds, Cam takes hold of me again, but this time pushes me backward and looms over me. “I trusted you with my sister. Trusted you to do the right thing. And I just put her on a plane in tears. So tell me, friend, how is that the right thing?”
Shit, I can’t even look him in the eye. Guilt racks me, and I have no answer for him. How do I tell him it was the only way? That I did it for her. He would never see it that way. She’s his baby sister. The one he adores. The last thing he wants is for her to get hurt.
Fuck, I did this all wrong.
Did her and me all wrong.
Shoving me back one more time, he gives me a look of disgust. “You can be an asshole, you know that?” he says hoarsely, and then pounds across the wooden floor until he reaches the kitchen door. With his hand on the knob, he pauses. “I thought you were better than that.”
When the door slams, and I’m alone in his wake, all I can think is…I am.
I am.
All I need is time to prove it.
And I will.
36
Stand by Me
Amelia
Two men with six-pack abs passionately embrace and begin kissing. Soon, they tear each other’s clothes off. The camera zooms in as the pair writhes against each other’s naked bodies. Eventually, one of them gets on top and a full-on anal scene ensues.